Coaxing the Soul
Role-reversal AU; Soul, Maka; G
Also, I'm still working on the fourth part of Empty Hands. I've just been craving some role-reversal AU and wrote it spontaneously. Let me know if there's any misspellings and grammar mistakes. I'm notorious for conflicting tenses. :( But other than that, please enjoy and I really do adore comments. 3
The crimson tie was tight around his neck and Soul Evans pulled the knot lower to let air through his windpipe. The suit and tie was his mother's idea, almost too eager to send him off to a regional Meister-Weapon convention when they found out he was a Meister- someone who could wield a Weapon- someone who could change into a item of force and ate "Kishin" souls. Soul hated events like these, formal occasions he was all too familiar with. The lights, the shiny gleam of polished ballroom floors and constant chattering all around were a norm for him- second son of a family of famous musicians.
Soul scoffed, he was the second son and a second-rate musician compared to his violinist older brother Wes. Most people didn't have a trained ear for it, but Soul was not at the same level as his older brother. He feared the ones that did though, feared their hushed tones of comparison and shied away from the pleas to play the piano for anyone. This is why his mother sent him here, not because of civil duty as a Meister, but because his musical family could painfully hear how much talent he lacked so much that he thought it made their ears bleed.
Well, he wasn't going to be a failure at being a Meister as he was being a musician. Sometimes he felt as if he didn't deserve to be called a musician with the crap he produced. Soul straightened his posture as his crimson eyes surveyed the crowds and looked for that pin that said 'Weapon'. He was going to make the best Death Scythe ever, the tool that would eventually be in the hand of Death himself. He was going to have a Scythe-type and no other. He was going to be a Scythe Meister.
The search had been futile- Weapons had denied him or weren't what he was looking for, others that asked weren't scythes. With every rejection and every Weapon not a scythe, his posture suffered for it. Soul's back slouched slightly forward, his hands found his pockets and a scowl formed on his lips. This is stupid, he thought grimly. Soul needed to get away from the glistening chandeliers and the smell of ranch dip and the incessant buzz of voices. He left the room.
The corridors outside of the event hall were dimly lit and Soul rather liked that- the shadows that cast their twisted forms on the floors and walls and gathered at corner crevices. He reveled in the peace it gave him, allowed him to sort his thoughts. After walking for a while, Soul had no idea for how long, he came across a door that was ajar. Curiosity had him step up to it and reach his hand out to push it open.
It was like someone was waving a bone in front of a dog to him: a poorly lit room with a piano at the wall furthest from him. He wouldn't have stopped his feet from taking over the threshold even if he could. Absently he gently pushed the door closed- it didn't click shut but Soul didn't care and made his way to the piano. His fingers dragged themselves across ivories. It was a black, upright piano and in-he was about to find out as he pressed each key down- ah, yes, it was in excellent condition with perfect pitch.
Music was in his blood, even if he wasn't up to his family's standards. Soul sat down at the bench and flexed his fingers. He didn't play the classics although he could but rather, he was going to play his own music no matter how uneven or dark it was. After all, it was from his soul.
Maka Albarn fingered the little rectangular pin on her coat and contemplated ripping it off. It was a symbol of her genetics, a particular code in her DNA that had overpowered her mother's Meister-gene and had made her a Weapon…Like her no-good, cheating father. It made her want to rip her insides out, the moment she found that she could turn into a scythe- just like her father. The gene may have been activated by the recent divorce her parents had. Maka had so hoped to be like her mother, a brilliant Scythe Meister…instead she was the scythe to a Meister…well not yet.
She'd arrived late, against her habit to be on time to events. She spent the wasted time hoping, praying that she wasn't a Weapon, or at the very least not a scythe. But it was meaningless and she realized that when the event was two-hours in so she got dressed in her best clothes and left for the Meister-Weapon convention. Olive green eyes had scanned the ballroom, searching for that pin that revealed someone to be a Meister…hopefully her Meister.
Maka had been approached and had disappointed people that she was a scythe. A part of her wanted to Maka-chop them for denying her because for one, scythes were awesome and for two, she wasn't going to be a bad partner. In fact, she was going to be the best. Maka was going to become the Death Scythe that surpasses her father. And so she dismissed those that rejected her because that only meant they weren't the Meister for her.
After about an hour of this and a couple plates of food, Maka was beginning to lose hope that she was ever going to find a Meister. She let her eyes wander around the room one last time before she left the room. Maka blinked when she felt her soul flicker. Absently she pressed her hand to her chest, felt her heart beat and looked to her right.
Maka had gone through these halls many times before but…but somehow it felt different. Something was pulsing through the walls…and pulling her towards it. She took a step forward, her soul reacting to something she couldn't see. Maka strained her ears- there was something traveling through the air. She walked quicker, trying to find the source.
It became clearer with each step she took, her soul reacting a bit more strongly. Maka stopped suddenly. Music. She was hearing music. And it flowed from the small crack of an almost closed door. Maka went closer; her fingertips gently pushing open the door. She peered inside, the beating of her heart quickening and her soul pulsating.
In the dim light, Maka could make out a boy at a piano. The tune was sporadic and dark. It was interesting as well. She found herself stepping inside, quiet as she could be.
And then he stopped, feeling her presence. Soul's own soul was reacting, his hear beat steady. Soul looked over at her from over his shoulder. She saw his lopsided smirk and couldn't bring herself to say something. So Soul said something instead.
"Like what you heard?" he asked, turning back to the ivories. He could instantly tell she didn't know much about music, knew that she didn't have the ear for it.
"I didn't hear all of it," Maka replied with twitching fingers. Soul nearly allowed himself to look back at her. "So could you play it again?" she asked, blinking her olive eyes at his back.
'She wouldn't know the difference if I played badly,' he thought, fingers ghosting over the keys. Soul didn't look at her.
"Sure," he conceded. "This is my soul."
His fingers came smashing down on the keys, startling her at the sudden sound. But it was only to get her attention or perhaps make her run away from him, Soul didn't know but he did begin to play. It was uneven and dark. Maka couldn't picture any light from it at all. But she found her feet taking her forward, drawn to it.
The tempos varied and the sound was sporadic in various tones of darkness. The melody twisted around like a horrific retelling of classic fairytales- the ones that made everything come out wrong, come out realistically where princes died in their attempts to save the princess and the evil witch of a stepmother succeeding in cutting out her stepdaughter's heart. Maka could feel soul reacting to it, knowing happy endings were a lie herself. She approached the nameless pianist and was a few feet away from now instead of near the doorway.
When he finished he grinned and turned around on the bench, fully expecting the girl to have fled from his playing. His face held momentary surprise before flitting away to his normal bored crimson eyes and lazy smile.
"You're still here," he said. Maka nodded wordlessly. They stared at each other before Soul stood up and arched his back in stretch, feeling the bones creak. He turned to face her properly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"So?" he urged. "How was it?"
Maka's gaze fell to her feet in contemplation, a small frown on her lips. She didn't truly understand the entirety of his song; Maka had never been too good at music classes or well renowned for having 'good' music tastes. But she liked his song anyways. Her head jerked back up to meet his crimson eyes and smiled.
"I'm not sure what it meant…but I liked it. It was interesting," she said.
Soul blinked a few times, a bit taken aback by her honestly. His eyes found the pin on her jacket: Weapon. He brought his eyes back up to hers.
"Why kind of weapon are you?" he asked. He almost visibly saw her jump and she hastily looked down at her pin as if she'd forgotten she was wearing it at all.
He did hear the embarrassed tone when she replied.
"A scythe," she averted her gaze. He wondered briefly if she was ashamed of it but decided he didn't care. Soul gave her another lop-sided grin when she looked back up at him.
"A scythe huh?" he said. "That's coincidental. I've been looking for a scythe-type weapon. Wanna be my partner?"
Maka's eyes widened in surprise, wondering if he'd really been looking for her specific weapon type. When she didn't answer right away- Soul attributed this to the fact that a cool guy like him had just asked her to be his partner- he took the few strides over to be within arms-length of her.
"I'm Soul Eater," he held out his hand. Maka blinked at him, eyes darting from his hand to his face before her face split with a cheerful smile that almost took him aback one more.
She took his hand. "I'm Maka Albarn. And I'd like to be your partner."
"That's cool," he replied.
End.